


Into the Abyss (with you)

by Phantastic_Whovian



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Mentions of past drug use, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jehan, Other, Trans Character, Trans Montparnasse, also montparnasse is still in his gang, and they're all in an lgbt support group, because i dont know how to write anything else, coffee shop AU, genderfluid Eponine, it gets pretty angsty, obviously, oops it sorta became a coffee shop au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 21:32:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantastic_Whovian/pseuds/Phantastic_Whovian
Summary: Montparnasse-former druggie, convict, rebel that sorta-has-a-cause? (that cause is keeping himself fed, which he achieves quite nicely he thinks)Obviously, he's the last person who should be going to this support group. Especially not with the way that vivacious redhead's smile makes him feel.“Uh, hi. I’m Montparnasse, he/him pronouns. And I’m trans.”“Why are you here today, Montparnasse?”"Because Ep dragged me."





	1. In which everyone's favorite edgelord is forced (fine, coerced) into a veritable mess of rainbows

**Author's Note:**

> So! I'm not going to lie, this is my first foray into the jehanparnasse fandom, or the les mis fandom is general. But I love the fanfictions everyone writes, and so I've decided to attempt my own.  
> Let me know what you think-your comments fuel me!

Montparnasse watches the smoke curl lazily from the end of his cigarette, the tip glowing ember. He’s yearning for something stronger, something to relieve the ever present craving in the back of his mind. But he's made promises; promises to the one person who can see past his bullshit. Himself. He stubs the cigarette out on the toe of his boot, and casually flicks the butt onto the busy street. Eponine snorts behind him.

“Y’know, I get that you literally don’t care about anything but yourself. But haven’t you ever heard of the ozone layer?” He ignores the insult, curling his fingers into a fist.  _ Count to ten.  _ His therapist would tell him that he’s baiting Montparnasse. Blah blah, attachment issues, blah blah, depression. He gets it-Eponine’s fucked up. But he isn’t exactly in a position to judge him.

“Shit, Eponine. When the fuck did we even learn about that?” Eponine takes a lazy drag of his cigarette, the He/Him pin on his beanie glinting in the weak afternoon sunlight.

“Eighth, ninth, tenth. You were probably too strung out to remember.” He wants to call Eponine crazy for thinking that, wants to tell him that’s bullshit. Unfortunately, he’s probably correct. There’s a reason why Montparnasse never got into any colleges. Well, actually, there’s several, but that happens to be the main one. 

“Fuck off, Eponine.”

“Look, man, I tell it like I see it. You don’t like it, that’s your problem.” Montparnasse wants to kick something, anything, but he settles for digging his nails into the soft skin of his palms. He turns the corner, and the building looms in front of him, large and oppressive. It looks old, ramshackle, and he’s honestly surprised it’s still standing.The crooked, faded sign over the door does nothing to refute this first impression. It must have said something once, but the words have faded so much he can only make out a couple letters here or there. He thinks about backing out, about making some excuse. Maybe he has to do something for his mother, or run some errands, or pay a bill. Then again, he hates his mother, never "runs errands", and he's so far behind on his bills that this payment would make no difference. Eponine knows this, too. One look at the determined set of his jaw tells Montparnasse that there’s no getting out of this. He pushes the door open, gingerly, wincing when the hinges squeak.

“It’s just down this hallway.” Ep says. Their footfalls echo in the empty hall, sounding off the walls and ceiling. Montparnasse’s shoe squeaks on the tiled floor, and he winces. “Right there.” Not pausing to wait for him, Ep opens the door and walks in.

“Hey everyone. Brought someone new.” He says.

“Hey, Ep!” A chorus of voices replies. As his eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, a stark contrast from the dimly lit hall, he’s aware of everyone staring at him. He puts his best ‘ _ don’t talk to me’ _ scowl on his face, and plops down gracelessly in the chair next to Ep. He was going for badass, but something tells him he looks more like a pouting teenager.

“Cheer up.” A voice next to him whispers. “At least there are plenty of attractive people here.” It’s true. The golden haired angel that seems to be made of porcelain, who sits across from him. The scruffy man with a beanie and piercing green eyes. But none as much as the person next to him. Their hair is short and curly, a deep shade of red that he knows instinctively could be nothing but natural. The freckles on their face only make their grin seem more impish. The golden haired angel is talking then, and a sharp kick aimed at his ankle makes him face forward, shooting a scowl at Ep. 

“Hello, everyone. My name is Enjolras, he/him pronouns, and I just want to welcome you all, officially. I can see we have a new member today, so why don’t we all go around introducing ourselves? You can go first.” Enjolras says generously, his words obviously directed at Montparnasse. He stands up, scuffing his shoes absentmindedly.

“Uh, hi. I’m Montparnasse, he/him pronouns. And I’m trans.” He deepens his voice self-consciously, as far as his vocal range will allow.

“Why are you here today, Montparnasse?” Enjolras prompts.

“Because Ep dragged me to this stupid lgbt support group.” 

“I prefer coerced, but I guess dragged works.” Ep replies lightly, crossing his legs. 

“Okay. Well, why don’t we keep going then.”

“I’m Jehan, they/them.” The redhead next to him replies. “And I’m bisexual.” Jehan. The name flows off their tongue like water, melodic and sweet. He fights back the urge to grin. It’s been a long time since he met someone like Jehan, someone unintimidated by him. This is going to be fun. 

“I’m Feuilly, they/them as well. I’m agender.”

“I’m Marius, he/him, and I’m asexual.”

“I’m Grantaire, he/him.” The scruffy man across from him says. “I’m gay.” He winks at Enjolras, who admittedly looks flustered. He recovers well, though.

“I’m Enjolras, he/him, and I’m gay. However, I am  _ not _ looking for a relationship at the moment. And, if I were, it would not be with a pathological flirt and cynic who-”

“Rein it in, man.” Ep says, shooting him a warning look. Grantaire’s smile remains, but Montparnasse can see how hard he’s working to keep it. Enjolras manages to regain some composure, gesturing to the next person.

“I’m Courfeyrac, he/him, and I’m gay as fuck. Isn’t that right, babe?” He grins at the man beside him, who looks amused and exasperated.

“Combeferre, he/him, and I can confirm that he is extremely gay.” He sighs.

“I’m Ep, he/him today. I’m genderfluid.” Ep explains. He reaches around Montparnasse’s seat to high five Jehan.  _ Great, _ Montparnasse thinks, his thoughts dripping with enough sarcasm to drown someone.  _ These two know each other. This’ll be fun. _

“Okay, so now that we’ve all been introduced, I guess it’s time to start. Does anybody have anything they’d like to share?” Enj asks.

“I do.” Courfeyrac says. “I was at the grocery store today, and this lady told me I was going to hell for wearing nail polish.”

“What? You didn’t tell me that!” Combeferre says, furious. “I can’t believe that.”

“It’s  _ fine, _ Ferre.” Courfeyrac says, a gentle smile struggling on his face. “Really, it’s ok. I’ve heard worse.”

“You shouldn’t  _ have _ to.” Ferre fumes.

“Yeah, I have to agree.” Enj says. “None of us should be inherently subject to such injustices.” Grantaire snorts.

“Unfortunately, Enj, we don’t live in a world where people like us fit in.” Enj whirls around, eyes blazing. 

“That doesn’t mean it’s right! Twenty years ago, we lived in a world where people of different races didn’t have any rights or-”

“Newsflash, Enj! Racism is still a thing!” Grantaire stands up, facing Enjolras. “Check your fucking privilege, man. Of course it’s not right, and of course it’s injustice, but sitting here shouting about political correctness isn’t gonna fucking change anything.”

“If that’s how you feel,” Enj says coldly, “You’re free to leave at anytime.”

“Whatever. See you all next meeting.” Grantaire says. His shoulders are slumped dejectedly, but there’s a furious set to his jaw that Montparnasse knows well. It may have been years since they’ve seen each other, but Grantaire hasn’t changed much. He slams the door behind him, and Enjolras winces. He sits down, the fire gone from his expression. He suddenly looks tired.

“They always do this,” Jehan whispers. Their voice sounds resigned, but disappointed. “I was hoping maybe this week...” They shake their head. “Oh well.” 

“What’s the deal with the flirting?” Montparnasse asks, finding it difficult to keep his voice deep while whispering.

“Grantaire’s head over heels for Enj, but he won’t admit it. As for Enj, well...Grantaire thinks Enj hates him, but I’m not so sure. I think Enj needs Grantaire more than he admits. Maybe more than he realizes.” Montparnasse studies Enj’s face. Now that he isn’t arguing with Grantaire, much of the passion has gone from his expression. He looks dejected, hopeless. 

“I can see that.” He mutters. 

“It’s quite sad, really. Perhaps I should go check on Grantaire...” They cast a fleeting glance towards the door, uncurling their legs from underneath them.

“But wouldn’t Enjolras be upset if you left?” Montparnasse asks. He couldn’t care less about Enjolras, but something inside him is telling him- begging him- not to let Jehan go. Not yet.

“It’s not Enj I’m worried about.” Jehan replies, a sad smile gracing their face. 

“Okay, okay everyone.” Enj says, trying to regain control of the room. The buzz of hushed conversation dies down. “I get that you’re worried about Grantaire, but-”

“But nothing, Enj.” Courfeyrac frowns. “Did you really have to say that?”

“I won’t tolerate somebody who doesn’t stand for any of my ideals, Courfeyrac. It’s like the only reason he comes at all is to goad me!”

“Well, Enj, he did have some good points.” Feuilly says, trying to be reasonable.

“Of course he did! He always does! But that doesn’t mean that I have to agree with his defeatist attitude.” Enjolras sighs. “Does anybody have anything else to share, or is the rest of this meeting going to be entirely unproductive?” The room is silent. “Fine, you all can go. I’ll see you next week.” Everyone files out, talking among themselves. “And, Jehan?” Enjolras calls. “Could you...please check on Grantaire for me?” Jehan gives a mock salute.

“Sure thing, Enj.” Montparnasse has to resist the urge to laugh at Enjolras’s exasperated expression. 

“C’mon.” Ep says, linking arms with Jehan. “Let’s go make sure Grantaire isn’t self destructing, yeah?” The two of them walk out the door, Montparnasse taking up the rear. They hold a quiet conversation in front of him, that he can only hear snatches of. Periodically, he hears Jehan laugh softly, the sound making his chest feel strangely light. He’s itching to walk closer, to hear them speak, to see the grin spread across their face, to thread his fingers through theirs. Of course, he refrains from doing this, well aware that A, he just met Jehan and that would be not only creepy but very unwelcome, and B, that definitely would not be good for his reputation.

 

Grantaire is waiting just outside the door, cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Ah, Jehan, Ep.” He says. “Did the golden god himself send you to check on me?”

“He did.” Jehan confirms. “Enj was worried.” Grantaire scoffs, and takes a drag of his cigarette. 

“Yeah. Sure. We’re just gonna have the same argument next week.”

“Come on, let’s go binge some shitty sitcom.” Jehan offers.

“Yeah, there’s probably a million friends reruns.” Ep agrees. “C’mon.”

“Nah, but thanks. I think I’m just gonna head home.” Grantaire says. “Maybe some other time.” Jehan gives him a sympathetic look.

“Whatever, dude.” Ep says. He throws an arm around Jehan’s shoulder casually. “Wanna order a pizza?”

“Hell yeah.” Jehan agrees immediately. “See you, Taire.” They pause for a moment, looking at Montparnasse. “Goodbye, Montparnasse.”   
“Bye, Jehan.” No sooner has the name left his lips than Jehan is walking away. He stares after them for a long moment, and then turns to see Grantaire waiting for him.

“So. Parnasse. Haven’t seen you in years.”

“Been a while.” Montparnasse agrees. “Ep says you’re still clean.”

“Four years sober.” He replies. “You?”

“Relapsed over a year back. But I’m doing well now.” Grantaire flicks his cigarette into a gutter, and starts walking.

“It’s been since high school.” Grantaire says eventually. “Kind of strange we’d see each other again now.”

“Not that strange.” Montparnasse replies. “You, me, and Ep all used to be friends. Back in the day, anyway.” He remembers that time, before he’d met Claquesous, and Gueulemer, and Babet. Before he’d turned to drugs and stealing to ignore his family problems. Before he had gotten Grantaire addicted. 

“I’m still sorry about that, man.” He says, eventually.

“Forget it. I didn’t have to take them. I wanted to.”

“I should’ve kept my shit out of your life though.”

“Look man, we were both fucked up back then. We both probably still are.” Montparnasse nods, sticking his hands in his pockets. His phone chimes, then, and he pulls it out.

 

**Gee: got something**

**Gee: meet us over at sous’s place**

 

He sighs, and shoves it back into his pocket.

“I gotta go.” He says. “See you around, I guess.”

“Yeah, sure.” Grantaire replies. “See you, man.” Montparnasse pulls his hood over his head and walks across the street, flipping off the car that honks at him. Grantaire shakes his head, half amused and half irritated, and walks away.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All she would say was ‘he’s dangerous.’ But I think she underestimates just how much I like that.” He shivers inadvertently, unable to look away from their smoldering eyes.
> 
> “She isn’t wrong.” He says, his voice low and quiet. “You should stay away from me.”
> 
> “Ah but you see...” Jehan inches their hand forward to rest it on his arm, and his skin tingles at the contact. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” Montparnasse chuckles helplessly, reaching his free hand over to rest it on top of theirs.
> 
> “You’ll be the death of me, Jehan Prouvaire.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How I, a humble ace, managed to write so much sexual tension, I'll never know.

"Look, man." Gee says. "I'm telling you, Dean Winchester would totally kick the doctor's ass." Claquesous snorts.

"I'm not denying he would beat him in a physical fight, I'm just saying, when it comes to morals and ethics and shit, the Doctor definitely has Dean beat."

"It depends on which doctor you're talking about. 11 definitely didn't have the values of 9 or 10."

"I know, that was the one thing I couldn't stand about him."

Montparnasse has to resist the urge to slam his head against the wall. Repeatedly. He's been here for over half an hour, which is approximately the amount of time this argument has gone on. 

"Guys, did you make me come here for a reason or not?" He asks, trying not to sound too frustrated.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot you were here." Claquesous admits.

"Yeah. Anyways, we definitely have something. And it's a good reason."

"Spill." Montparnasse says, leaning forward in his seat as if he'll hear the news faster.

"We found your mom." He sits back, disappointed.

"I don't want anything to do with that bitch." He says, coldly. "She can rot in hell for all I care."

"Yeah, I told Gee you'd say that." Claquesous says. "But that's not it." He groans.

"What else? Unless you want her dead, in which case I will happily oblige, I don't see where this is going."

"She's been hanging around Thenardier." Of course. It had to be Thenardier. Of all the disgusting slimeballs in the world, it had to be him.

"Why is she hanging around him?"

"We, uh..." Claquesous and Gueulemer exchange glances. "We have a theory." Gueulemer says. Right on cue, the doorbell rings. Babet walks in then, laden with bags of chinese food.

"Got the chinese!" He calls, setting them down on the kitchen table. "Oh, good. Parnasse is here. You guys tell him about the supervillain drug lair theory?" Claquesous and Gueulemer groan as one, and Claquesous flips Babet off.

"We were just getting to that." Babet checks his watch.

"What the fuck have you guys been doing? I've been gone half an hour."

"They were arguing about Doctor Who." Montparnasse replies. With a long suffering sigh, Babet brings the chinese over to the coffee table. Gueulemer immediately tears into the crab rangoons, while Claquesous opts for the orange chicken.

"So, our working theory-although I'm definitely not completely convinced-is that Thenardier is dealing drugs."

"I wouldn't put it past him. After everything he did to Ep..." Abusing him, kicking him out, forcing him to care for his then infant brother, making him a part of his criminal activities, and forcing him to live on the streets for several months with said brother are the first things that come to mind, but Montparnasse knows there are more, perhaps some that Ep himself hasn't even told him.

"I wouldn't either." Babet says grimly.

"We figured that's why your mom was hanging around him." Gueulemer says, around his mouthful of half chewed food.

"Something in it for her." Claquesous agrees, at least having the decency to swallow his orange chicken first. Montparnasse opens a container of rice, his mind reeling. After ten years, his mother's back. He remembers vividly his childhood under her-sitting by while she popped pills, cooking dinner as she stuck a needle into the sickly blue of her veins, calling the ambulance when she overdosed and then finishing his math homework. Drugs and violence had been his childhood, and it was probably only natural that they called to him in his adult life.

"You okay, man?" Gueulemer asks him.

"Just wondering why the hell she's here, or even why Thenardier's here. It's sure as hell not for the scenery." Babet snorts.

"Maybe the aesthetic of graffiti and dark alleyways appeals to them." Claquesous suggests.

"No. My mom always liked big, fancy, expensive things. She wouldn't choose to be here without a good reason." Montparnasse replies.

"I've got a theory about that too." Gueulemer replies. Montparnasse decides to humor him. Gueulemers theories, historically, are almost never right. But it's better than anything Montparnasse has got.

"What is it?"

"I think it's something to do with Ep. I think Thenardier wants-him? That's his pronouns today, right?"

"Yeah, it's he today."

"I think Thenardier wants him back." Montparnasse instantly pales. How did he not think of that.

"Ep won't go willingly."

"I'm worried it won't be entirely willingly."

"Should we tell him?" Claquesous asks softly, the worry lines on his forehead deepening.

"No. He'd probably try to find Thenardier, and that's the last thing we need. If it comes to a confrontation with Thenardier, there's no way they both walk out alive."

"Agreed." Claquesous replies.

"Keep an eye on him, okay? And my mom too."

"Anything they do, I want to know." Babet says, speaking up. "Who saw them in the first place?"

"Myriel, down at the bar." Claquesous replies. "They were talking. There was a third person there too, someone she didn't recognize."

"Probably reasonable to assume it was a client." Montparnasse muses. "Okay. We can deal with that. Hopefully this thing isn't too big, and we can shut it down."

"Well, if you cut off the head of the snake..." Gueulemer begins. "We gotta find Thenardier before we can end this."

"Agreed. But that begs the question-where the hell is he?"

"Has he tried to contact Ep?" Claquesous asks.

"Not that I know of. I want to say he would tell me, but I guess he might not want to." Gueulemer hums in disappointment, his brow furrowed.

"I'll ask Myriel to keep an eye out, and text me if either of them shows up."

"Yeah. Good thinking."

"Montparnasse..." Claquesous hesitates, indecision written across his features. He and Gueulemer exchange worried glances again. "If one of us finds your mom, or she happens to approach us, what would you like us to do?" Montparnasse's face goes cold, passionless.

"If any of you sees that heartless bitch, do everybody a favor and shoot her on sight.”

 

**Unknown number: hey montparnasse**

**Unknown number: it's jehan ;)**

**Montparnasse: hey, how did you get my number?**

**Jehan: Ep gave it to me**

**Montparnasse: He would.**

**Montparnasse: What's up?**

**Jehan: Bored :(**

**Montparnasse: glad to be a source of entertainment**

**Jehan: ;)**

**Jehan: what are you doing?**

He glances around the empty apartment. Takeout boxes are strewn across the living room, Babet is in the kitchen arguing loudly with someone over the phone, and Gueulemer and Claquesous are playing Mario Kart  _ again. _

“Hey, did you just fucking  _ blue shell _ me?”

“EAT MY FUCKING DUST GEE!”

**Montparnasse: trying not to murder my roommates atm**

**Jehan: I could be your alibi**

**Jehan: you couldn’t have done it if, say, you were at that little coffee shop down the road from the library**

**Montparnasse: And what time would I have been there?**

**Jehan: in about twenty minutes?**

**Montparnasse: you’re right, that sounds like a perfect alibi.**

**Jehan: glad to hear it**

**Jehan: i take my coffee with six sugars and four creams :)**

 

Montparnasse glances up when the little bell on the door rings. It’s Jehan, a dark beanie thrown over their curls.

“There’s no way that color is natural.” He blurts. They smile, sitting down across from him. 

“It is, actually. I dyed it once, but it faded pretty quickly.”

“I dyed my hair blue once, in high school. Back when I wore eyeliner and MCR was still together.”

“I remember those days.” Jehan says wistfully. “I used to straighten my hair every day.” They ruffle the curls escaping their beanie self-consciously. 

“I tried to curl my hair once.” Montparnasse admits. “I ended up with singed hair.” Jehan snorts, and sticks a spoon in their coffee, idly stirring it. “So. That was, um, an interesting meeting yesterday.” Montparnasse says, thinking back to the support group.

“Yeah.” Jehan sighs. “I’d like to say it’s not usually like that, but...”

"I kinda got the feeling that happens a lot."

"Unfortunately. It is an lgbt support group, but everyone's got their own problems as well. Depression, Anxiety-you name it and we've all got it."

"Don't forget dysphoria."

"Ah, yes, how could I forget. My old friend dysphoria." They say wryly. "Anyways, Grantaire's...not in a great place. He's a broke art student-painting and photography don't really pay that well-so he hasn't got enough money for therapy or meds or anything. The only reason he's even on T is because Ep insisted. She's got lots of money, you know."

"Yeah, I know. She likes to pretend she's this broke millennial, like the rest of us, but jesus. It's not like being a writer doesn't pay."

"Especially when you're as good as she is." Jehan agrees. "It probably wouldn't pay if she hadn't already sold like three books."

"Has Adrien gotten anybody to buy that pilot script yet? The one about the trans teenager?"

"Nah, he can't get anyone to buy it." Jehan sighs. "Mostly because of transphobic dicks who hate any kind of representation." Montparnasse scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“You know,” He says, changing the subject, “It’s literally ungodly to take that much sugar in your coffee.”

“Why, do you drink it black, like some pretentious hipster?”

“Sometimes.” He admits. “I don’t always have sugar and cream. I guess I just kind of got used to it.”

“Hmm.” Jehan takes a sip of their coffee, then leans forward-a bit too close for comfort, but he can’t make himself say something about it. Not when their eyes are sparkling at him like that.

“So, Montparnasse.” They say, rolling the name over their tongue as if tasting it. “What do you do for a living?” 

“Ep didn’t tell you?” He asks, partly joking and partly trying to figure out how much they know.

“She wouldn’t. All she would say was ‘he’s dangerous.’ But I think she underestimates just how much I like that.” He shivers inadvertently, unable to look away from their smoldering eyes.

“She isn’t wrong.” He says, his voice low and quiet. “You should stay away from me.”

“Ah but you see...” Jehan inches their hand forward to rest it on his arm, and his skin tingles at the contact. “I don’t think I could if I wanted to.” Montparnasse chuckles helplessly, reaching his free hand over to rest it on top of theirs.

“You’ll be the death of me, Jehan Prouvaire.” They smile impishly, raising a delicate eyebrow. “Seriously, though.” Montparnasse says after a moment. “You should stay away from me. I’ve been arrested more times than you’ve had birthdays.”

“I’ve been arrested too.” They reply. “If you think I’m some goody two shoes...”

“I could never.” He promises. And he means it. They have an edge to them, a sliver of darkness that only adds to his attraction to them. “I think you don’t understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Maybe I don’t.” Jehan agrees lightly. “But I’d like to.” They stare at each other intently for a long moment, having reached an impasse.

“I don’t think I could say no to you if I tried.” Montparnasse admits. “It’s not too late to walk away.”

“And when will it be too late to walk away?” Jehan asks, only partially joking.

“Never.” He replies. “I don’t think you will, though.”

“Really?” Jehan asks, arching their brow.

“I get the feeling you’re the type to do the exact opposite of what someone tells you.” Montparnasse says wryly. They tip their head back, laughing. He finds himself staring at the line of their neck, smooth and unbreakable. 

“You do have me figured out.” They grin, the dimple in their cheek deepening. 

“What can I say, you’re...”

“What, insane? Strange? Foolish?” They ask, eyeing him sharply.

“Intriguing.” He replies. “You fascinate me.”

“And you me.” They reply after a moment.

“Glad we cleared that up.” Montparnasse replies. They each sip their coffees in silence, until the buzzing of Montparnasse’s phone breaks it. He turns it on, already dreading what it might be.

 

**Ep: you. Me. my apartment. Right now.**

**Ep: dont you even think of trying to get out of it**

**Montparnasse: I’ll be there but you owe me**

 

He shuts the phone, rolling his eyes.

“It’s Ep. She wants to meet me.”

“Ah. Is she gonna give you the shovel talk?” Jehan asks, a teasing grin appearing on their face.

“Probably.” He admits. 

“Will I see you again soon?” An edge of insecurity pierces Jehan’s tone for the first time, doubt written across their features.

“If you want to. You can’t say I didn’t warn you, though.”

“Oh, you warned me.” They agree. “But the warnings only served to make me like you even more.”

“Lucky me.” He mutters. “I’ll text you.”

“You better.” Smiling to himself, he turns to walk out the door. He can feel Jehan’s eyes on him, and it’s a curious sensation. Something tells him that they’re smiling as well.


	3. Obligatory shovel talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ep: yeah um here’s the thing
> 
> Ep: i kinda sorta mentioned the musain to enj
> 
> Ep: and I may have told him that they had an upstairs room
> 
> Ep: and that chetta was looking for someone to rent it
> 
> Montparnasse: WHAT THE FUCK EP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! if you're actually enjoying this story (which is doubtful) maybe drop a comment? they fuel me and inspire me to keep creating this  
> Please validate your local author i need lots of love  
> (also i dont know when the fuck this turned into a coffee shop AU but im just rolling with it tbh)

“Seriously?  _ Jehan? _ ” Ep hisses, slamming the door. “Of all fucking people you picked to corrupt,  _ Jehan? _ ”

“Look, Ep. I tried to warn them, I tried to tell them I’m no good. They wouldn’t listen.”

“That’s Jehan.” Ep agrees, her voice losing some of it’s bite. “Just, be careful. Jehan’s tough, and they’re strong, and they’ve definitely got a pretty sharp wit...but they’re hurt easily. They won’t show it, but they are.”

“Calm down, Ep.” Montparnasse says, trying to appease her. “We’re not like, dating, or anything. We met for coffee to talk. That’s literally it.”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ get them hooked on anything. I mean it.” Ep warns. “I swear to god if you do anything to hurt them I  _ will _ cut your dick off and mount it on my wall.” 

“Ep.” Montparnasse says, trying to keep a straight face. “I don’t  _ have _ a dick.”

“It’s-it’s-argh, you know what I mean. I will hurt you. Don’t think I’m not capable of that.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m  _ very  _ aware of what you’re capable of.”

“Is Montparnasse having relationship drama? That’s gotta be a first.” Gavroche says, poking his head around the corner.

“No.” Montparnasse says, at the same time Eponine says “Sort of.”

Gavroche snorts, and Montparnasse shoots Ep a glare, putting as much annoyance into it as he can muster.

"Anyways," Ep continues, like Gav isn't standing right there, “You better not start anything with Jehan.”

“Wait,” Gav says, “Montparnasse has a crush on  _ Jehan? _ I can’t see that ending well.”

“I  _ don’t _ have a crush on Jehan.” Montparnasse groans, rolling his eyes.

“Gav, you’re like fifteen, what do you know about crushes?” Ep asks. “Oooooh! Is there someone we don’t know about?”

“You wish.” Gav replies, but his cheeks are tinged pink.

“You’re  _ blushing. _ ” Ep sings.

“Nuh-uh.” Gav says, petulantly. “I’m going out.”

“To meet you cruuuusssshhhh?” Ep teases. Gav makes a face, and slams the door on his way out. “Heh.” She snorts. “Works every time.”

“When is Azelma getting home?” Montparnasse asks.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you liked my bratty little sister more than me. In any case, she’s working right now.”

“Hey, wait a minute, what time is it?” Montparnasse yelps, pulling out his phone. “Oh,  _ shit. _ ”

“What?” Ep asks anxiously.

“It’s almost three!” He swears loudly, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to the door. “I have to get to work, I’ll talk to you later!” He calls.

 

Montparnasse strides in the doors of the musain brusquely, not pausing or stopping. Maybe, if he ignores the clock, he won’t be late, won’t be-

“Montparnasse!” Muschietta stands in front of the counter, hand on her hip. “I didn’t realize your shift had changed to half an hour later.” He winces.

“Sorry, Chetta. I-”

“I don’t wanna hear it. Just get behind the counter already.” She ruffles his hair on her way past though, which makes him think she isn’t really that angry.

“Hello, welcome to the cafe musain, how can I help you?”

It takes roughly twenty minutes for Montparnasse to remember that he would rather shove a rusty nail through his eyes than work another day at this job.

“Chetta I’m  _ dying. _ ” He groans. 

“Chin up, edgelord.” She says. “Only seven and a half hours left.” He briefly contemplates slamming his head against the counter repeatedly, but blood is fucking hard to clean off of wood, especially unvarnished wood like this. He forces a miniscule smile on his face, feeling his cheeks burn with the effort.

“Hi, welcome to the cafe musain. How can I help you?”

 

Montparnasse hesitates outside his door, listening. He’s hoping beyond hope that the three nuisances he happens to live with are out, or even better, mysteriously murdered in some dark alley, never to be seen again. 

He’s still working out the logistics of that one, but he’s pretty sure it’s possible.

He turns his key in the lock gingerly, and steps inside. When he doesn’t hear any sound, he breathes a sigh of relief and slips his shoes off. Tossing his keys onto the coffee table, he meanders down the hallway and flops down facefirst on his bed. He’s asleep before he can even remove his apron, which smells vaguely of pumpkin spice after a humiliating failure earlier that day. 

 

**Ep: oi**

**Ep: dickhead**

**Ep: i got a question**

**Montparnasse: Ep i gotta be to work in twenty minutes and i just woke up**

**Montparnasse: make it snappy**

**Ep: yeah um here’s the thing**

**Ep: i kinda sorta mentioned the musain to enj**

**Ep: and I may have told him that they had an upstairs room**

**Ep: and that chetta was looking for someone to rent it**

**Montparnasse: WHAT THE FUCK EP**

**Ep: i had to okay! theyre kicking us out of the community center we had to find somewhere**

**Montparnasse: GODDAMNIT EP I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE YOU**

**Ep: hey i gave you warning ok**

 

He kicks his nightstand in frustration, and then remembers that his nightstand is actually just books on top of an old metal filing cabinet, and it happens to hurt like hell when you kick it.

“ _ MOTHERFUCKER!” _ He shouts, hopping on his noninjured foot.

“Ok, what the hell first of all?” Claquesous asks, standing in his doorway.

“Fucking Ep.” He manages, still clutching his foot.

“You’re a moron.” Claquesous replies, shaking his head. “Gee’s making eggs, you want any before you go to work?”

“Haven’t got time, I’ve gotta be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay. Try not to damage any more furniture.” Claquesous advises, and closes Montparnasse’s door. Montparnasse swears again, managing to pull some clothes out of his drawer. After wrestling with his skinny jeans for longer than he’d like, he pulls on his binder and an old black t-shirt, and stumbles out of his door, a murderous glare already asserting itself on his face. 

“Coffee?” Claquesous asks, holding a thermos out to him. He accepts it, the sudden warmth making him realise just how shitty the heating is in their apartment.

“We’ve gotta get some better heating in here.” He grouches, taking a long sip of the coffee. “I’ll see you guys later, want me to pick up something for a late lunch?”

“Sure thing.” 

“I want pizza!” Gee calls, from his spot on the living room couch.   
“Sorry, only the people who actually pay the bills here get to decide.” Montparnasse shoots back.

“Hey, it’s my apartment, asshole.” Babet grouches.

“Of course, gracious and ever giving Babet. And what would you like?” Montparnasse asks sarcastically, throwing in a mock bow for good measure. Babet reaches a hand in his pocket, and thrusts a handful of crumpled bills towards Montparnasse.

“Just get some pizza or something.”

“Hell yeah!” Gee cheers.

“Just for that, I’m getting pineapple on it.” 

“Man.” Gee whines. Montparnasse pulls on his coat, and shoves the money inside his back pocket. Gee tosses him his keys, and he catches them one handed.

“See you.” He calls over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him. 

 

“Montparnasse, hey man!” Bahorel crows, pulling him into a hug. Montparnasse tries to resist, but when a six foot four man mountain is hugging you, there’s no resisting.

“Hey, Baz.” He mutters. Bahorel finally releases him, and Montparnasse stumbles to the counter, setting down his thermos.

“You know, you’re lucky that didn’t just spill all over you.” He says, scowling.

“You can scowl at me all you like, I know you’re happy to see me.” Bahorel grins even wider, quite a feat considering he is  _ constantly grinning. _

“I’m really, really not.”

“I’ll wear you down someday!” Bahorel says cheerfully.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Muschietta says, pushing the kitchen door open with her hip. She carefully places the pan of muffins on the counter, and begins assembling them into a pyramid somehow. Montparnasse, meanwhile, rests his head on the counter, trying to fend off his blossoming migraine.  _ It’s going to be a long day, _ he thinks to himself.


	4. Pining idiots ft Montparnasse having a crisis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh my god.” Montparnasse mumbles. “I hate everything about this fucking place.”

When the bell over the door chimes, indicating their first customer coming in, he glances up momentarily, and immediately regrets it. It’s Enjolras, his cheeks red from the cold.

“Hello.” He says, walking up to the counter. Muschietta puts a hand on her hip, looking him up and down.

“Let me guess-Enjolras, right?” He gapes.

“I-yes. How did you know that?”

“Montparnasse complains about you a lot.”

“I complain about  _ everything _ a lot.” Montparnasse interjects.

“I see. Well, I was hoping to inquire about renting your upstairs room?” 

“Yeah, of course. It’s nice to meet you, by the way, I’m Chetta.” She wipes her hands on her apron, and sticks out a hand for him to shake. He does so enthusiastically. “Let’s go talk about prices.” The two of them disappear up the stairs talking idly, and Montparnasse groans loudly. He lets his head fall back down on the counter with perhaps more force than necessary, which definitely doesn’t help his headache.

“You okay?” Bahorel asks, sounding legitimately worried.

“Peachy.” Montparnasse mumbles.

 

When the two come back downstairs, they’re both smiling. Montparnasse takes this as an extremely bad sign.

“Thank you, so much.” Enjolras is saying.

“Trust me, I’m glad to have you rent it. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with it for years. Nobody ever wants to go up there.”

“I’ll see you on thursday, then?”

“Yes, absolutely. Have a good day! Oh, here, take a muffin. You look pale.” Enjolras doesn’t ask how a muffin is supposed to make him less pale, which makes him objectively better than Montparnasse. He takes it without complaint, smiling widely at Muschietta.

“Cheer up, Parnasse. We need the money. Maybe now we can give you that raise, ey?”

“I would take a fucking pay cut if it meant getting him out of here.” Montparnasse grouches, his scowl deepening.

“Yeah, well, not happening, sorry. As much as you seem to forget it, I’m still your boss.” She reminds him, her tone taking on an edge.

“How could I forget it, when you lord it over us at every possible opportunity.” He snarks.

“Well, you could just find a new boss to disrespect.” Chetta says. 

“Sorry, Chetta.” He mumbles.

 

Feuilly is the second to come into the shop, the second reminder to Montparnasse that  _ hey, life can always get worse. _

“Hey, Montparnasse.” They say, a teasing grin appearing on their face. “You look happy to see me.”

“Ecstatic.” He replies, tone dripping with sarcasm. 

“I know someone who is happy to see you, at least.” Bahorel says, and Montparnasse jumps, swearing violently.

“Where the  _ fuck _ did you come from?” 

“Hi. I’m Feuilly.” They say to Bahorel, apparently ignoring Montparnasse.

“Bahorel.” He reaches out to shake their freckled hand, his hand dwarfing theirs. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bahorel.”

“Likewise.” Bahorel replies, a gentleness in his tone that Montparnasse hasn’t ever heard before. Bahorel is loud, boisterous, playful. Gentle is not something he would ever associate with Bahorel. But here they are. “Would you like a coffee? On the house.”

“Sure.” Feuilly smiles. 

Bahorel insists on making the coffee himself, despite the fact that Montparnasse is still on shift, and Bahorel is supposed to be in the kitchen. He watches as Bahorel hands Feuilly their coffee, hands brushing together for the barest of instants. And then it clicks into place. He stares at Bahorel, horrified, as he watches Feuilly sit down at a table not too far away.

“Oh,  _ hell _ no.” Montparnasse manages. Bahorel only grins, and saunters back to the kitchen before Chetta yells at him.

He comes back out three more times before Feuilly leaves.

 

**Montparnasse: im gonna be fuckin sick**

**Ep: ?????**

**Montparnasse: bahorel and feuilly are fucking F L I R T I NG**

**Montparnasse: RIGHT AT THE COUNTER**

**Montparnasse: RIGHT IN FRONT OF MY COFFEE**

**Ep: hA**

**Ep: HAhAHAHAHAHAHHA**

**Ep: oh wait shit I owe grantaire ten bucks dammit**

**Montparnasse: did you guys fucking bet on this**

**Montparnasse: also how does grantaire know bahorel**

**Ep: they box together**

**Ep: and yeah i bet it would be a few days before they started flirting but grantaire was like “no its gonna be right away’**

**Montparnasse: unbelievable**

**Montparnasse: un fucking believable**

 

He drops the pizza on the table unceremoniously, startling Gee.

“Oh, didn’t see you, Parnasse.” He laughs, which is the first thing that tips Montparnasse off-Gee only laughs when he’s high.

“Have you moved once all day?” Montparnasse asks, wearing his ‘ _ i’m pissed _ ’ expression, which just happens to be his default expression.

“Yes!” Gee defends himself.

“Get a fucking job, for christs sake.” Montparnasse mutters.

“I  _ have _ a job.”

“Yeah, robbing people and selling pot isn’t a job, Gee.”

“I-I make money.” He defends himself.

“And then you spend it on more pot. Are you seeing where this is going or are you too stoned?”

“Hey, fuck you man, I’m not stoned.” 

“Really? Then what is it today. Heroin? Coke? Meth?” He grabs Gee’s arm, to see needle marks. “Goddamnit, Gee.”

“Hey, you’re-you’re the one who’s all clean, and shit, not me. Acting like you’re all better than us.” 

“I sure fuckin hope I’m better than a druggie.” Montparnasse spits. He turns on his heel, stalking towards his bedroom. Gee won’t remember the exchange anyways. He tears his apron off, and shrugs out of his binder before crawling into bed shirtless. Just a little nap, and then he’ll take a shower, and eat something.

It ends up being close to midnight when he actually wakes up. The glow of the tv illuminates the hall with an eerie blue light, giving everything an otherworldly tint. Practically tiptoeing aross the kitchen floor, he opens the fridge to find that somebody-probably Claquesous-wrapped up the remaining four pieces of pizza in plastic wrap. He pulls them out, and closes the refrigerator door, the sound echoing too loudly in the silent apartment. Rummaging around in the pockets of the clothes on his floor, he eventually extracts his headphones, and pulls up Netflix on his phone. 

It’s nearly four o clock before he’s tired again, but he can’t bear to lay back down without having taken a shower first. He smells of a strange mixture of vanilla, coffee, caramel, and body odour, which definitely isn’t pleasant. Grimacing, he sets his phone aside and stretches, and then gets out of bed before he can change his mind about the shower. He steps down the hall barefoot, the carpet muffling his footfalls. The bright, artificial light of the bathroom shocks him, his eyes closing involuntarily for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he turns the water on and begins shedding his clothes.

 

**Jehan: hey**

**Jehan: hows everything**

**Jehan: still want to murder ur roommates?**

**Montparnasse: Only one of them in particular at the moment.**

**Jehan: better than wanting to murder all of them i guess**

**Montparnasse: Oh i would still murder all of them given the chance**

**Jehan: theres the montparnasse i know**

 

If Montparnasse has to hear the word ‘babe’ one more time, he’s going to punch someone. Preferably Courfeyrac or Combeferre. The two have taken up the table closest to the counter, sharing a piece of pie in a disgustingly domestic fashion. He’s pretty sure Courf was feeding Ferre at some point, but he’s making a valiant effort not to look at either of them. 

Aside from that, Bahorel is staring at Feuilly  _ again. _ They’re reading a book, sipping a cup of coffee as they do. Montparnasse rolls his eyes, and jabs Bahorel in the side with an elbow.

“Much as you’re enjoying the view, if you don’t get back in the kitchen we’re gonna have no food to sell.” Bahorel sighs. 

“Okay.” Montparnasse busies himself wiping up the coffee that Bahorel had spilled while staring at Feuilly, as Bahorel makes his way back into the kitchen.

If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s pining people. The longing stares, the fond smiles, the lingering touches. It’s disgusting, it’s overrated, and he’s seen enough for a lifetime. 

Over the course of that week, the cafe is filled with them. Joly, Bossuet, Marius-which is really just adding insult to injury, that little fucker-even Grantaire shows up. He’s got bags under his eyes, and is probably nursing a hangover.

“Why are you here, man.” Montparnasse sighs upon seeing him. “What, are you hoping Enjolras will show up?” Grantaire scowls at him.

“Just give me a coffee, fucker.” Montparnasse rolls his eyes, but makes Grantaire a coffee as requested-more cream and sugar than coffee, really, the way Grantaire’s always liked it.  

“Here.” He says, handing it to Grantaire carefully. Grantaire’s hands are so shaky that Montparnasse is worried he’ll drop it, but he makes it to an empty table without incident. Joly and Bossuet exchange glances, and then move to sit in his booth with him. Then Courfeyrac and Combeferre move to the table next to them, striking up a conversation.

“Those two are sweet.” Muschietta says, appearing next to Montparnasse. “Joly and Boss, that is.”

“They’re all inconsiderate little assholes.” Montparnasse replies. 

“Those two aren’t. They’re considerate, and caring, and Joly is so smart, and Bossuet is so funny, and...” A realization hits Montparnasse suddenly.

“Oh, not you as well.” He says despairingly. Muschietta only smiles, resting her chin in her hands. Bossuet glances over and waves at her. She waves back, of course, smiling widely. Joly, noticing Bossuet’s wave, follows his line of sight and waves to her as well.   
“Oh my god.” Montparnasse mumbles. “I hate everything about this fucking place.”

  
  
  


“Hey.” Ep greets him, perching his ass on the counter without a second thought. Montparnasse smacks him in the side, a bit harder than he’d intended.

“Hey, unless you wanna wipe down these counters, get your fucking ass off them.” Ep rolls his eyes.

“Ugh. Whatever, dude.” He hops off, landing nimbly on his feet. Montparnasse notices his jacket and frowns.

“Hey, nice jacket. I wonder why it looks so familiar.” He says, crossing his arms. Ep shrugs, smiling innocently.

“I dunno, I just got it the other day.”

“Yeah, from  _ my _ closet.”

“Finders keepers.”

“Get upstairs before I fucking murder you in cold blood.” He threatens. 

“Whatever. You’re coming to the meeting, right?”

“Chetta’s making me. I literally have no choice.” Ep grins in satisfaction.

“Ha! You’re  _ afraid _ of her!” He crows.

“I’m  _ afraid _ of losing my paycheck.” He corrects. The words seem to fall on deaf ears as Ep prances upstairs, still grinning to himself. With a groan, Montparnasse continues wiping the counter down, hoping beyond hope that something-anything-will fly from the sky and strike him down before this meeting starts. 

“Hello?” He hadn’t even heard the bell ring to signal someone’s entrance, and he glances up quickly. It’s Jehan, their hair a mass of tangled curls. 

“Hi, Jehan.” He says, absentmindedly wiping his hands on his apron. 

“Hello, Montparnasse. We meet again.” They grin. “I half expected to never see you again, thought I’d scared you off.”

“Me? Scared? Never.” Montparnasse scoffs, his words an empty bluster. Jehan leans forward, over the counter, grinning wickedly.

“Really. Never.” He swallows hard.

“Nope.”

“So...” They’re almost nose to nose now, and he can’t bring himself to look away. “You aren’t scared of anything?”

“Of course not.” He says weakly. 

“Hmmm.” They press a kiss to his cheek, dangerously close to the corner of his mouth. Smiling, they pull away, hopping off the stool they’d been perched on.

“I should get upstairs.” He watches them practically skip away, his fingers reaching up to absentmindedly touch his cheek.

  
  


“Hello, everyone. I’m glad to see you all here.” Enj says, standing up. “And...I’m glad you came back, Grantaire.” The words seem to take some effort to say, but Combeferre nods approvingly. Montparnasse can see Grantaire failing to suppress a smile.

“Always glad to be here, Apollo.” 

“Our first order of business today-” Enjolras’s words are a buzz in the back of Montparnasse’s mind, as he glances around the room. Everyone’s there-Feuilly, Eponine, Jehan, Grantaire, Combeferre, Courfeyrac. Even Muschietta is there, sat in between Joly and Bossuet, the three of them whispering to one another. Eponine props his legs up on Montparnasse’s thighs, leaning back to rest his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder.  

_ Tired? _ Montparnasse mouths.

_ Bored. _ Ep mouths back, making a face.  _ Enjolras is making one of his speeches. _ Sure enough, when Montparnasse tunes in enough to focus on the words, Enjolras is ranting about healthcare, and the lack of LGBT accessibility. This is a subject Montparnasse knows well, given that he’s been trying to get top surgery for years now, but he’s not about to say anything. Grantaire apparently, has no such qualms, a frown gracing his face. 

“Do you have something to add, Grantaire?” Enjolras asks, seeing this. 

“Only that-” Grantaire begins, his tone angry.

“Guys, please.” Jehan interrupts. “Not today. Please.”

“Sorry, Jehan.” They both mutter in sync. Grantaire plasters a smile on his face, turning back to Enjolras.

“You make some good points, Enjolras.’ He begins. “But my main issue with your argument is that you yourself are cis. You don’t really fully understand how hard it is to get adequate healthcare, especially when you throw in factors like race, or poverty.”

“Then explain. Please. I’m being a hundred percent sincere, I want to know your take on it.” Enjolras says, sounding genuinely curious.

“I go to my doctor, they use my deadname on every form. Every nurse uses it. Every doctor uses it. I’ve wanted top surgery for years now, but I don’t have the money. My insurance doesn’t cover it, no doctor will do it for cheaper.” Montparnasse, Eponine, Feuilly, and Jehan all nod in agreement.

“My therapist still insists on using he/him pronouns for me.” Jehan admits quietly.

“My doctor still refers to me as a female.” Ep says. 

“I can’t get top surgery. I had to  _ pay _ to have my doctor tell me that I’m not viable, that no surgeon will operate on someone who’s broken ribs because of ace bandages.” Montparnasse speaks up. 

“I guess I didn’t quite realize my level of privilege.” Enjolras says, after a moment of silence. “Thank you, Grantaire, for calling me out on that. Really.”

“No problem, man, we all know I love calling you out.” Grantaire teases. He looks like he immediately regrets it, but thankfully Enjolras doesn’t pick up on it. The rest of the meeting passes without incident, without argument, even. After the meeting, Grantaire and Enjolras even smile in each other’s direction.

“Uh, Grantaire...” Enjolras starts, sounding hesitant. That’s not a word Montparnasse would normally use to describe Enjolras-Enjolras doesn’t hesitate for anything-but it’s exactly how he’s acting.

“Yeah?” Grantaire asks, his voice soft.

“I was planning on doing a series of pamphlets, focusing on lgbt issues, and I was...well, I was hoping you would do the artwork or take the photographs for them.”

“I...don’t know.” Grantaire hedges. “I wouldn’t wanna mess it up...’

‘If you’d like me to ask someone else, I can. It’s just that...well, you’re the most artistic person I know.” 

Enjolras doesn’t blush. The closest Montparnasse has ever seen him come to blushing is if he’s shouting until he’s red in the face. But he’s definitely blushing now.

“Okay, fine.” Grantaire says. “But you should text me, tell me more about what you want.”

“Yeah, sure thing. What’s your number?” Grantaire pulls a pen from his pocket and scrawls it on his hand. He signs it with an R.

“There-wouldn’t want you mixing it up with all the other numbers you get.” He teases. Enjolras smiles despite himself. 

“I’ll see you later, Grantaire.”

“Yeah, see you.” Enjolras leaves as quickly as he came, while both Jehan and Ep turn to Grantaire with matching incredulous expressions.

“Oh my god.” Jehan says, an earsplitting grin spreading across their face. “Oh my  _ god. _ ”

“Did that...? Did that actually just happen? Am I dreaming? Is this real life?” Ep puts a hand to his head in a mock faint, and Grantaire facepalms.

“Oh my god, you guys, find some fucking  _ chill. _ ”

“I hate all of you.” Montparnasse grumbles, scowling.

“Even me?” Jehan asks lightly, smiling innocently up at him. He has to work very hard to maintain his scowl.

“Especially you.”

“Oh shut up, you know none of us believe you.” Ep says, rolling his eyes. 

“Whatever, I’m gonna go downstairs and finish cleaning up. You all can leave, since god knows none of you have an  _ actual job. _ ”

“What, you don’t count flipping burgers at Mcdonalds as an actual job?” Ep asks, grinning.

“No, I count your writing as an actual job. You just never seem to do it.”

“Ex- _ cuse you. _ I will have you know I wrote three thousand words last night”

“Yeah, after writing nothing for almost a week.”

“Yeah, well-” Ep is at a loss for words. “Clearly,” He says, fuming, “you don’t understand how hard writing is.”

“Oh, no, I do. You’re constantly telling me.”

“I actually do have a job.” Jehan speaks up, breaking up the argument effectively. “I work at a bookstore. Lovely little place, quiet. I think it’s haunted, too. Oooh, perhaps I should bring my ouija board there...” Montparnasse stares at Jehan in confusion, but Ep continues as if this is a normal thing to say.

“Anyways, I’m almost finished with the rough draft, and then all I’ll need to do is edit this one. I’ve only been writing it for a few months, excuse me if I’m not completely done.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure.” Montparnasse says. Ep knows he’s teasing, Montparnasse is certain of it. 

“Speaking of work, I have to get going.” Jehan says, pulling on a gold chain around their neck. It reveals a small pocketwatch, which they use to check the time. “It’s already almost four. Bye Ep, Goodbye Montparnasse.” Montparnasse watches as they turn the corner and leave his sight, before turning to Ep.

“A  _ pocketwatch? _ ” He asks. “They’re joking, right?”


	5. Pining idiots ft montparnasse is a mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I say this every chapter, but to be fair, I still haven't gotten a single comment soooo  
> as much as I love getting kudos, I love hearing from you guys! Please please please tell me if I said something you liked, something you hated, if there's something you wanna see  
> seriously please comments are my lifeforce

“Good  _ mooorning,  _ Montparnasse!” Bahorel practically sings, beaming widely.

“It’s really,  _ really _ , not that good.” Montparnasse replies with a sour look.

“You, my friend, are simply an eternal pessimist.” Bahorel grins.

“Why are you so sunny today, anyways?” Bahorel’s gaze flicks towards the back of the room. Montparnasse glances over, and groans out loud.

“Feuilly? Again?”

“Hey, they like the coffee shop. And I do make a  _ mean _ pumpkin spice latte, if I do say so myself.”

“They don’t like the coffee shop, Baz, this place is shit. They like  _ you. _ ” 

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” He snorts. 

Montparnasse decides it’s officially too early to deal with this shit.

 

“Good morning, boys!” Muschietta trills, leaning over the counter to grin at Joly and Bossuet. Joly’s face turns a bright red, as Bossuet chuckles helplessly.

“Morning, ‘Chetta.” They say in the same breath.

“One green tea and one chai latte coming up!” She says, and hits Montparnasse on the shoulder. “Make me a green tea and a chai latte.” He rolls his eyes, closing the display case where he’d been arranging pastries.

“Yeah, yeah, okay.”

He busies himself with the drinks in an effort not to hear Muschietta flirting shamelessly with the two of them. Joly’s quiet, awkward, but his deadpan one liners keep Muschietta laughing for a long time. Bossuet’s humor is louder, boisterous. They’re always laughing, the three of them. It grates on his nerves, gets under his skin for reasons he doesn’t understand. Gritting his teeth, he shoves the drinks over the counter.

“Here.” He says.

“On the house.” Chetta smiles, tapping her purple painted nails on the counter. 

“Thank you, Chetta.” Joly says softly. Montparnasse rolls his eyes again-really, he should be keeping track, this must be some sort of record for him-and squeezes his hands into fists.

The clock reads ten, meaning he’s only been here two hours. He’s not sure he’ll survive the rest of the shift.

“I’m going on a break.” He mumbles, making his way out from behind the counter. If Muschietta hears him, she doesn’t say anything, too busy laughing at something Joly had said. He passes Courfeyrac and Combeferre on their way in, smiling at each other. 

He kicks the door closed particularly viciously. 

 

The cherry of his cigarette glows as he takes a long drag, allowing the smoke to fill him. He exhales, relaxing for the first time that day. Leaning his head against the wall, he closes his eyes for a moment.

“Party too hard last night?” His eyes snap open, to see a familiar head of red curls beaming up at him.

“Jehan, hey!” He can’t help but notice the skinny jeans hugging their legs as they lean against the wall beside him, and he swallows hard.

“What, uh, what brings you here?”

“Wanted a coffee.” They shrug. “And I’m sure everyone else is already here.” Montparnasse swallows his unexpected disappointment.

“Oh. Yeah. I mean, Joly and Bossuet are here, but I’d avoid them. They’re both flirting with Chetta and it’s...it’s a bit of a mess. Feuilly is here too, but  _ they’re _ flirting with  _ Bahorel. _ And of course, Courfeyrac and Combeferre are flirting with each other.”

“Hmm. It is nice to have so much love in the air.”

“ _ Nice _ isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” He grouches.

“What word would you use, then?” 

“Irritating? Annoying? Fucking bullshit?” Jehan laughs, covering their mouth with a hand.

“I’m going to go in and get a coffee.” 

“I’ll come in too.” Montparnasse says, stubbing his half smoked cigarette out on the brick wall. 

 

“Hey Jehan!” At least five voices chorus at once. 

“Oh, hey everyone!” They grin, the picture of happiness and contentment. Montparnasse slinks away, knowing that he won’t be able to get a word in edgewise among this lot.

He’s right about that. They all talk for nearly an hour, their voices a constant buzz in the back of his head. He thinks about kicking them all out, but everytime he does he catches a glimpse of Jehan’s laughing face. His chest aching, he decides against it every time.

He’s wiping down the display case down when someone clears their throat. He hits his head on the counter, startled.

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

“Oh my god, are you all right?” Jehan asks, concerned. He manages to extricate himself out from under the counter, grimacing.

“I’m fine. Can I get you something?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” They reply, raising an eyebrow.  He feels strangely light all of a sudden, his eyes widening.

“Oh! Oh, okay. Uh. Yeah, whatever. What about?”

“Nothing in particular.” They reply, smiling. “What are you doing?”

“Just cleaning up.” He sighs ruefully.

“I can see that. I meant, why are you cleaning coffee from  _ inside _ the display case?”

“Oh-Bahorel spilled an entire pumpkin spice latte this morning because he was too busy flirting with Feuilly.” Montparnasse rolls his eyes.

“Oh my god. An  _ entire pumpkin spice latte? _ ”

“Yeah. He was handing it to Feuilly, but he was so busy making heart eyes at them that he just dropped the entire thing. I’m going to smell like pumpkin spice latte for  _ weeks. _ ” Jehan leans forward, and his heart almost stops. Their face is alarmingly close to his.

“You do smell very pumpkiny.” They conclude at last, sitting back.

“Don’t forget the spice.” Montparnasse says weakly, willing his face not to turn bright red. 

“No, I’m getting more pumpkin than spice.” They grin at him.

“Are you  _ insulting _ my ability to make pumpkin spice lattes?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Jehan replies. “I’m just saying that you  _ might _ want to put more spice and less pumpkin.” 

“Oh, well look at you, the latte expert.” Jehan giggles, and Montparnasse smiles himself, without thinking about it. A loud crashing sounds from across the room, and he looks up, startled. Bahorel has dropped an entire tray of glasses and mugs, his mouth gaping.

“Oh my god. You all saw that, right?” He asks.

“Yeah.” Courfeyrac replies.   
“Did Montparnasse just...smile?”  Combeferre asks.

“I didn’t think it was a holiday. Maybe it’s his birthday?”

“No, his birthday’s a few months away.” 

“Oh my god.” Montparnasse grumbles. “It’s not that huge a deal, guys.” 

“What happened?” Muschietta asks, wiping her hands on her apron as she walks out of the kitchen.

“Montparnasse  _ smiled. _ ” Bahorel says, bending down to pick up the glasses he’d just broken.

“Really? At Jehan, right?” This time Montparnasse is the one to gape.

“I-what-how?”

“I have my ways.” She replies, smoothly. 

“Well, I really should be going. I’ve got to be to work in twenty minutes, and I don’t want another dusting incident.” Montparnasse opens his mouth to ask, and then thinks better of it. Jehan leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek, their hand resting on his neck. “Goodbye, Montparnasse.” He doesn’t even bother to try and hide his raging blush as they stride out the door. 

“Oh my god.” Bahorel says for the second time.

“You are officially never allowed to criticize the rest of these pining idiots again.” Grantaire says, smirking.

“What pining idiots?” Joly, Bossuet, Bahorel, and Feuilly all say in the same breath. Montparnasse groans, slamming his head down on the counter hard enough that he’ll  _ definitely _ feel it for days.

 

Gueulemer, for the first time in a while, isn’t lazing around on the couch when Montparnasse has gotten home. He’s sat at the kitchen table, cleaning a gun for some reason. Claquesous is pacing, muttering something under his breath. Babet is nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” He asks, confused.

“We’re gonna fucking fight a bitch is what.” Gueulemer says, not looking up from the gun he’s cleaning.

“We? No. Gee, I’ve told you, I’m doing this by myself-”

“And  _ I’ve _ told  _ you _ that there’s no fucking way I’m letting you do that.” Gueulemer replies with a glare.

“Who are we fighting and why?” Montparnasse asks.

“You’ll never guess who I ran into at the grocery store.” Claquesous says, his voice turning bitter.

“Oh, god. Who.” Montparnasse groans.

“Brujon.”

“ _ Brujon? _ As in, used to be one of us Brujon?” 

“Yeah, how many other Brujon’s do you know?”

“I thought he was still in jail.” Montparnasse says, untying his apron.

“Yeah, so did I.” Claquesous admits. “But no, evidently not. He came up to me and asked if I was ‘still a fag’.” Montparnasse’s fingers curl into fists. “I told him to meet me tonight and I’d show him  _ exactly _ how much I’ve changed.”

“And you’re not doing it alone.” Gueulemer speaks up, cocking his gun.

“Gee-” Claquesous starts.

“Don’t, ‘sous. I’m not letting you die tonight. You still owe me twenty bucks.” The two share a look, neither wanting to back down.

“ _ Fine. _ ” Claquesous relents. “But if I tell you to get out of there-”

“I won’t listen.” Gueulemer replies, the ghost of a smirk appearing on his face.

“Stubborn jackass.” Claquesous mutters.

“I try.”

 

Montparnasse cocks his gun, rechecking the safety. Without his binder on he feels exposed, vulnerable. But at least he can breathe. Speaking of exposed and vulnerable, his gaze falls on Claquesous. To the casual passerby, he appears unarmed, vulnerable. Alone.

The casual passerby, of course, doesn’t know about the knife tucked into his waistband, or his years of experience with conflict and violence. And they definitely don’t know about Montparnasse and Gueulemer, training their guns towards the entrance to the alleyway. It’s dark, dark enough that the two of them can easily hide in the shadows. Montparnasse hears the echo of a footstep, and nudges Gueulemer. Brujon’s voice comes from the entrance of the alleyway.

“Claquesous.”

“Brujon.” Brujon steps into the light, and the two appraise each other for a long moment.

“I take it you didn’t come alone.” Brujon says. In answer, both Montparnasse and Gueulemer step out of the shadows, guns aimed at his temples. “Clever boy. Maybe you  _ have _ learned something.”

“Oh, I’ve learned a lot.”

“And yet, you haven’t learned to control your faggy thoughts.” Brujon’s voice is incredibly harsh, cutting through Montparnasse like a blade. He refocuses himself, steadying his hands.

“Well, you haven’t learned how not to fuck little kids.” Claquesous replies, eyes narrowing.

“She said yes.”

“She was  _ ten _ , Brujon.  _ Ten. _ Do your new associates know that?”

“They know very little about me, I know very little about them. It works.”

“I’m assuming they’re just as despicable as you, then.” Gueulemer says.

“Despicable? What are we, some overdone spy flick?” Brujon snaps. “Come on, let’s get this over with already.” He pulls a gun from his waistband, aiming it at Claquesous. Claquesous seems remarkably composed, his face blank as he draws his own gun. 

“Are we really going to do it like this? A shootout?”

“Scared you’ll lose?” Brujon taunts.

“No.” Claquesous cocks his gun, aiming it at Brujon. Without any warning, Brujon changes his aim, and fires. The shot grazes Gueulemer’s arm, and Claquesous cries out. Without any hesitation, he shoots his gun twice in rapid succession. Both shots hit their mark on Brujon’s head, blood trickling out as he drops to his knees, but Claquesous pays no attention. Tossing his gun aside, he races to Gueulemer’s side.

“Shit.” Gueulemer curses. “That  _ fucking hurt. _ ” Gueulemer presses his hands against the wound, hissing when his skin makes contact.

“I  _ told you _ not to come, oh my god, I knew this was going to happen.” Claquesous’s voice is panicked, his eyes wide.

“Chill, ‘sous, it’s fine. I’ve been shot before.”

“Well, yeah, but-but not because of me.”

“I’m sorry, did you aim that gun at me and fire?” Claquesous shakes his head, mutely. “Then it wasn’t your fault. Now can we please get home before I pass out?”


End file.
